


Drunk and Just a Little Bit Angry (9.)

by LachrymoseLake



Series: Hurt/Comfort Prompt List. [2]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: (?), Alex is fine (she's not fine), Alex is having none of it, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Denial, Drinking, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Gen, Nosy Bartender, Pool, Prompt Fic, Self-Destruction, Self-Discovery, The Author Regrets Nothing, liquid courage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 15:11:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19671814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LachrymoseLake/pseuds/LachrymoseLake
Summary: The bar is the only place to be at 5 o'clock on a weekday. It has pool, music and lots and lots of alcohol. Almost enough for Alex to forget why she was there, five drinks in and unable to keep her thought too far off a certain set of dimples and honey-soft eyes.Almost.





	Drunk and Just a Little Bit Angry (9.)

The bar was quiet, slow. The music was part soothing and part painfully generic. Pool balls clicked together, and the crystal clink of the bartender’s slightly heavy-handed stacking of the glasses melded together to fill the stool riddled room. Low, yellow bulbs lit hardly anything, but enough to see the back door and the front, the bathrooms and the nearest table; enough to see the important things; the exits, the offensives, the defences.

Alex swirled the remains of the whisky at the bottom of her glass. She didn’t pause or flinch as she tipped her head back and smoothly swallowed the burning amber liquid. The burn lit up her throat, chasing the alcohol's path through her chest and down into the pit of her stomach. Alex sighed, setting the thick-bottomed glass on the bar top and slumping forward. The liquid fire did nothing to fill at the hollow feeling in Alex's chest, nothing to ease the loneliness, nothing to heal the hurts that throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

Softly tapping the bar-top, Alex didn’t look up as the tender came, uncapped a bottle and refilled her empty glass. When the presence of the barkeep didn’t melt away, however, Alex was _forced_ to look up, slightly hazy eyes focusing on the man stood opposite her.

He was handsome (objectively), he had a kind face, not chiselled or hard, but soft looking. So soft, she almost wanted to stroke the skin with her fingers, trail them up to run through long black hair. Wanted almost to make warm caramel eyes flutter shut in a content smile, kind of like-

Alex blinked, hard, head shaking as she snapped out of her Aleown twisted mind. Because no. No. His face had a faint fuzz of 5’o’clock shade that would be prickly under her touch. His hair was _short_ , dark blond, or maybe a brunet? (The light didn’t help her already half-drowned brain with that one). Either way, it wasn’t black, or long. The eyes didn't sparkle prettily or make her heart flutter and stomach slip.

But that's _fine._ Fine because Alex didn't want butterflies or soft skin or warm breath and gorgeous eyes-

Maybe she was staring for longer than she thought. Maybe that usually meant one of the barkeep's patrons wanted to talk, because he suddenly flipped a dishcloth over his shoulder and leant back against the counter behind him, dark, dark eyes fixed on her.

“You look sad.” His voice was surprisingly sweet. Maybe with two- or five- more drinks down her, she would even take him home. More likely she wouldn't make it home, settling for the car to make the already unpleasant experience even worse. Perhaps if she tried hard enough, this time, it would make a difference- maybe she would like it, would want it. Maybe when she couldn't quite think straight, she would act straight. The honest, secret part of herself whispered that it wouldn't work, that nothing would change. Past his caramel tone, it took Alex a second to churn the words over, to process them. Then she laughed, quiet and cold. 

“Now that is _quite_ the pick-up line. Do you hit on all your customers with that one?” her sarcasm, deflection, made the barkeep grin with far too much amusement, arms folded and eyebrow raised. 

“Oh, no, I wasn’t hitting on you. I was inviting you to use me as an objective ear for whatever’s eating at you.” 

“Why would I do that? I don’t even know you.” Alex took a sip of her drink, pausing brim to lip, before narrowing her eyes and adding a forceful “And I am _fine_.” as an afterthought. 

The man huffed, smirking in a frustratingly knowing way, head tilting. His index finger tapped against the elbow of his folded arms. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Ta- it was quite mesmerising- the rhythm Alex could almost hear over the sound of a pool game coming to an uproarious end.

Pool.

It had been a while since Alex played, too long. Nearly a whole two weeks. She wasn’t… she wasn’t sure how she was handling it? Well, considering where she was, Alex wasn’t handling itwell at _all_. Was it possible to get addicted to pool? Could she begin getting withdrawals after two weeks having gone cold turkey? If it was, it meant Alex couldn't even blame someone other than herself. Alex had been avidly avoiding it- her- _it,_ in reality. It wasn’t just busy schedules and work emergencies- it was _deliberate_.

It had been so long since she had played pool, and Alex really, _really_ missed it- her- it. She missed it. Two weeks, no contact. No calls or texts, no jokes or teasing or poor attempts at flir-

She… wasn’t really thinking about pool, anymore.

“Exactly,” The unnamed, and frankly _unwanted_ , bartender cut through Alex’s extremely important train of thought, “you don’t know me. I don't know you. I won’t judge you; I _can’t_ judge you.”

So persistent.

“But I’m fine.” Alex insisted. Defended. Implored. She didn’t hear the slight slur in her voice, or the pain hidden just beneath the surface. Didn’t hear it because she was _fine._

“Oh, I’m sure. That’s why you’re sat here by yourself, drinking your seventh whisky straight at five in the afternoon. You’re _so ‘_ fine’.” Alex glowered as she stubbornly gulped said drink. Slamming the thick glass down clumsily, Alex shoved herself off her stool, expression dark and lip curled in an insulted, _embarrassed_ snarl.

“I don’t need you to judge my drinking habits.” She snapped, the dingy room swaying noticeably around her. The sensible, self-aware, and most importantly, _sober_ part of Alex’s brain told her that she should definitely have stopped at the second drink, hindsight is twenty-twenty after all. It also told her that she really _shouldn’t_ have another one and _should_ just go home (where she could dig out her private bottle that was well hidden away from prying Xray eyes at the bottom of the recycling bin).

Again, the bartender cut off Alex’s thoughts of some fine rum and cold pizza, a soft bed and a pillow the perfect size to wrap herself around to stave off the loneliness.

“No, no, no. I can’t judge, remember? Besides, working here, you would hardly be the most hopeless case I’ve served.” Alex’s scowl didn’t lessen, not particularly liking the implication of desperateness. The bartender didn’t seem to notice, or just didn't care. “I once had a guy in at eleven-thirty workings his way through his _own_ bottle of Jack. He came to a bar to drink his _own alcohol._ Now, I can promise you that whatever’s going on in that head of yours can’t be worse than that.” He looked at her. He was doing that a lot, maybe more than usual? Was it supposed to be comforting or inviting? Really it was kind of offputting, borderline creep.

She didn't like his eyes; they weren't soft.

Alex squinted at the polished, worn and re-polished wood of the bar. Her head was pounding, but that was probably dehydration. Her tongue, as absurd as it sounded, was feeling rather lose and she worked her jaw, fighting back the slue of words that she knew would pour out as extremely rude and insulting remarks. 

“I-I don’t know what you’re on, but I’m fine. Now, let me pay for my drinks and go, that is unless you’re so appalled at my day-drinking that you don’t want to get paid? Is that it?” Alex wasn’t entirely sure where the utter- if slurred - _outrage_ was coming from. It came from nowhere, burning hot on her tongue. Maybe it was just simpler, safer, than spilling her fast kept secrets to a stranger.

No, it was _definitely_ simpler.

The swirling mess of emotions, denial and liquor in her head was too much of a mess to even contemplate explaining- verbally or no.

Frustratingly, the bartender didn’t seem fazed, his gaze steadily in the face of Alex’s glare, eyes sympathetic- _sympathetic._ Like Alex needed some stranger cooing over her life, poking where they didn’t belong and dredging up the emotions she was _obviously_ trying to suppress. He was fucking sympathetic.

The fuzzy, barely-there remains of Alex's brain finally put its foot down.

_Enough._

Pride dinked and dented, Alex grudgingly, _furiously,_ slapped a few notes on the bar, shoving away with a threatening hiss and stalked (stumbled) to the door. She didn't hear the barkeep’s parting words over the thunder of her heartbeat. The agitating sounds of the bar grew muffled behind poor-fitted swing doors, and Alex stepped into the National City night- it was full of lights and cars and exhaust. Senses buzzing, Alex found herself lost inside her head, ranting soothly to herself. And with good reason!

Firstly (and admittedly lastly) how dare he? Assuming he knew what she needed, assuming _he_ was the one Alex wanted to talk to, _assuming he_ had any right whatsoever even to consider pitying her! She didn't _want_ him! She wanted-

She wanted...

Alex sighed, shaky and weak even to her own ears.

She wobbled determinedly past her bike- not even she was stupid enough to attempt driving in her current state -and along the pavement. With one hand keeping her verticle against the brick wall- with her head full of indignation, frustration, loneliness and incredible amounts of burning liquid-courage- Alex cracked her neck, nearly fell over, and made for who she wanted. Alex made for pool's house, for Maggie’s.

The detective might just be getting off work.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey! How's everybody doing this fine day/afternoon/evening/night? 
> 
> Sorry, it's been a while, my creative flow is frustrating... not flowing. So that's fun. 
> 
> Um, this is just something from my prompt list? It didn't go ANYWHERE where I thought it would when I first read the prompt (I usually don't get when people say that, but after seeing the end product and comparing it to my notes, flip, I get it now xD), But I still kinda like it enough to post it, so yay?
> 
> As usual, any feedback would be swell, and thank you for reading!


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